


A Thousand Words, A Thousand Years, A Thousand Miles

by Professor_Fluffy



Series: Stony Kink Prompt Fills [3]
Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Demons, Gender / Multiple Identities, Gender Swapping, M/M, Mindfuck, Other, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-18 19:04:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professor_Fluffy/pseuds/Professor_Fluffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink Fills: AU Where Tony is a demon and Steve is his human toy/possession. I would love it if Steve is/was in denial about wanting Tony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> As the summary states, this will eventually fill the prompt Tony is a demon and Steve is his human toy/possession.  
> Not explicit yet, but it will be eventually.

When I was reborn, everyone had reason to hope that I would support their cause -- right wing groups, hippies wallowing in Thor’s patronage – but never Tony Stark, the son of my late friend Howard. Howard I missed. Tony I hated from the day I first set eyes on him. 

Short and svelte, Tony radiated indifference the way some people radiate confidence. I quickly learned that underestimating him was mistake – one that Howard’s son took wicked delight in cultivating in the unwary. 

In due course the five of us moved into the Avengers tower, each taking a separate floor. How Stark knew I loved the works of J.C. Leyendecker, I didn't know, but there were several tasteful prints of athletic young men framed and hanging on the living room wall. There was an art studio with a full picture window curving around three-fourths of the room. 

The first mystery was the small vial of ruby nail polish sitting on my bathroom counter. For a long moment, I forgot to breath. It was the crimson Peggy used to paint her toes when she was on leave. The bottle was cold and smooth. I sat on the toilet, hands clasped around the small glass vial, reading the label in disbelief. It was the same brand. 

1941

_Peggy had been called away unexpectedly. The bottle of nail polish was sitting on her desk, still unscrewed, forgotten in her haste. I reached to screw the cap closed and paused, hand hovering, suspended mid-motion. The color went on in a smooth crimson glide; cool against the large plane of my thumbnail. The door creaked open and I jumped, startled into dropping the brush. Howard was standing in the shadows of the door-frame, wearing his characteristic devil may care smirk._

_“Need some help with that, pal? I’ve got steady hands. Or so I’ve been told.” He chuckled._

_“No,” I blotted at the nail but the damn paint just smeared, making a bigger mess. Howard laughed. I just glared._

2012

I tossed the bottle in the trash and slammed the bathroom door hard enough to rattle the table lamps. Tony was standing, arms crossed, in the apartment door. He lounged languidly, cat-like, in his exquisitely tailored suit, his tie undone and hair mussed. I scowled at him. 

He took a step inside, “is everything ok?”

“I didn't invite you in.” It was petty, I know. The man had invited us into his home, but I couldn't stand his attitude, so much like Howard's. 

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not a vampire then.” He smirked. 

“If you were, the artist’s studio would have been inadvisable.” 

“What if I were the glittery sunlight loving variety?” the smile stretched, blood-red and predatory.

I’d be damned if I knew what he was talking about, everything the man said had some secret double meaning, but I knew one thing, and I said it. “It wouldn't suit you.” 

He looked pleased. I hadn't intended it as a complement.

“Thanks for the apartment.” It was begrudging. “It was very brave, what you did in New York.”

He flinched. “No it wasn't.

I wouldn't see him for several days, but then he’d appear, skulking in the shadows, arms smeared with black oil, eyes gazing at me from the shadows. I couldn't shake the feeling of deja vu. His gaze was like the warmth of terracotta baking in the sun, but there were hidden depths, sliding along my spine like cold water. I shivered and punched the bag harder until it snapped, spilling sand across the gym. When I looked up, he was gone. Two days later my bags were replaced with a model capable of handling twelve times the force of the original. He disappeared into his workshop for several days. I waited for the opportunity to thank him, but none presented. I placed a hot cup of coffee outside the door as a token peace offering, and wasn't surprised when the panel slid open. I found myself looking down into a pair of intelligent eyes. He quirked an eyebrow in question. 

“I wanted to thank you for the punching bags.”

He asked me to dinner. My instincts were screaming that it was a bad idea, but I found I couldn't refuse him. He wore sunglasses inside the restaurant and ordered his steak extra rare, grinning when I gave him a disgusted look, and flashing extra teeth when he caught me watching the golden column of his neck as he swallowed. He licked the blood from his lips, staring me down over his designer shades. I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks and reached for the check. He beat me to it. Tony Stark was one arrogant bastard.


	2. More Things in Heaven and Earth.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the demon Fleruty attacks lower Manhattan, Steve finds himself with more questions than answers.

Growing weary of circling each other, I found myself seeking Tony’s company with an increasing frequency. I would take my pencils down to the dimly lit workshop, scratching away as I grew accustomed to his taste in music, modern rock ballads about sex and death, passionate and dark like the man himself. For all that he called himself Iron Man, he always smelled a little like copper, a sharp tang that followed him like some exotic cologne. I made comment of it on one occasion and he stared. I shifted uncomfortably under his careful scrutiny, which he normally reserved solely for his projects or those who displeased him. He seemed to enjoy the company of his robots more than the company of other humans; the exception was Pepper Potts. I assumed they were together, for there was a certain amount of closeness between them, but the more I came around, the more she seemed to distance herself, smiling at me in a pleased way that made my skin crawl. 

His friendship with Banner was strange. He was like a child with a toy, the idea of a man possessed by an uncontrollable anger, a second entity, was more of a curiosity to him than anything frightening or awe inspiring. He seemed morbidly sympathetic, extending a cautious friendship to Banner that he withheld from the rest of us, though he eventually grew to care for each of us, showing it in small physical ways, like batches of Clint’s favorite donuts, or special upgrades to Natasha’s weaponry. It felt at times as though he regarded us as favored pets, and tolerated us in his domain for the sheer perversity of it.

When a great golden angel named Fleruty laid waste to a portion of lower Manhattan, Tony grew extremely agitated, cursing extensively, and swilling a large mug of scalding hot coffee. He suited up, defying my direct order not to take off alone. We arrived in time to see Tony barraged by a sheet of hail, screaming at a tall blond man wreathed in golden feathers, tipped in snowy white, his mouth twisted in a rictus of rage. They were standing in the remains of an apartment complex littered with bodies, a broken pentacle writhed like a living thing in the bloody water seeping sluggishly from the ground around Fleruty's feet. 

“You, in your arrogance, have summoned me here, the supreme lieutenant general of hell, and I shall not return without proper recompense, mortal.” 

Iron Man’s eyes flashed an eerie blue, and lightning cracked overhead. Thor looked at Tony curiously. Fleruty raised his hand. I tossed my shield. Tony turned, startled. 

Natasha leapt from the Quinjet ramp, plummeting at the golden figure with no regard to her fall. Fleruty stretched his arms out and she stopped, suspended mid-fall. 

“Fleruty, don’t you dare,” Tony roared over the whipping wind, yanking his helm open. Everyone was staring at Natasha, but I saw Tony’s eyes, twin inky black smears, as dark as the cosmos, staring angrily at the angelic figure standing in the broken pentacle. Fleruty clapped his hands in jubilation, vanishing with Natasha, while Clint screamed in fury. Tony’s mouth twisted in rage. 

There was a book overturned in the gore smeared debris, pages pristine and pale. I reached for it. Tony’s Iron clad boot came down on it before I could scoop it up, and he looked down at me, expression unreadable. “Don’t.”

I felt anger coil hot and heavy in my gut. “We’ve already lost Natasha, if there’s a solution in that book, you’re wasting valuable time. Tony. I swear I’ll thrash you myself. You’ve already defied a direct order this morning, and now you're damaging something that could help us save a member of this team.”

His eyes were amused, but he reached out, gauntleted hand gentle around my throat, and leaned in, breath ghosting my lips, “I’m saving your life Rogers. Show some respect. I’ll take your orders from you if it amuses me to do so, but not in this. Never in this. If you value the rest of our team, you won’t peruse this.” 

“What are you?” I whispered. 

He removed his hand and grinned, “nothing to be trifled with.”

I shivered.


	3. Through a Glass Darkly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curiouser and curiouser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Category updates for this chapter.

The team waited in silence for any word. Days passed, and S.H.I.E.L.D. eventually pulled their agents off the case. No new information was forthcoming and we all went into a sort of half mourning. Clint in particular avoided the rest of us, keeping to his floor; only sneaking out to eat when we were otherwise occupied. I continued to watch Tony. His eyes appeared perfectly human, a deep, rich bistre, mocking me with their normality. My attentions seemed to amuse him more than anything, like an indulgent adult letting a child poke about in their belongings; he tolerated me. He would occasionally play music from the 1940’s, indiscriminately mixing my tracks with his screamo and rock. He always picked my favorites, without error, and once, when I stared fixedly at his focused countenance for a prolonged period, waiting for some sort of change, some flicker of paranormal activity, he looked up, grinning, and asked if I wanted him to teach me to dance. I looked away, something twisting painfully in my gut as blood rushed to my cheeks.

I snuck down to the workshop when he was at a meeting, knowing that there was one place I’d never looked -- never been allowed to look. Tony preferred to keep his data on computers, systems that were, by virtue of his coding, as loyal to him as a piece of technology could ever be. Hidden in the corner, behind a tall mechanics chest, there was an old filing cabinet. He may not have been aware, but every time I moved in that direction he subconsciously shielded the cabinet with his body. I caught on immediately, my instincts fine-tuned and more than capable of picking up on the behavioral oddities of those around me. I waited for the perfect opportunity, a day when I knew Tony would be busy with meetings and away from the tower for several hours. The drawers were locked, but they proved no match for my strength, screeching open; warped and rusted with age. 

I paused. Stacked on top were several pictures of me, held together with yellowed twine. There were pictures of Peggy that were taken well after my death, and shots of Howard. Stacks of information on the research done by Stark Industries. There were research papers on the protective properties of the Tesseract and Atlantine magic, and a stack of spells for finding ‘that which is lost.’ 

The middle drawer held the book that Tony had taken from the scene of Natasha’s disappearance. I’d seen him slide it into a compartment on the suit. I flipped through the pages quickly, my stomach lurching. The thing felt filthy and made my skin crawl. I gritted my teeth. Most of the pages were written in Latin, in a dark brown scrawl that flaked a in spots. The spells were headed in German, which made sense, considering the Fuhrer’s perverse interest in the paranormal and archaic. I found that I could still read it. Two of the pages were more worn than the rest. One was a spell to summon demons, the other a call for assistance. I ripped both pages from the book, cramming them in the back pocket of my jeans, and slammed the drawer shut. 

The third drawer contained lineages, forged identification papers for Howard and Maria Stark, as well as a slew of other couples and individuals, including both Peggy Carter, and a Captain James Rickon, a man I vaguely remembered assisting Erskine during project rebirth. On the top were passports for Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. I reached for one... A strong hand grabbed my wrist, wrenching my arm away from the open drawer, the bones in my wrist ground together. I gasped in pain and swung a fist at my captor. Tony was glaring up at me, his eyes as black as night, my fist suspended in his palm. “I allowed you in my workshop, I trusted you!”

“You’re willing to let Natasha die to keep your secrets.”

“I’m unwilling to sacrifice the rest of the team to save one person!” I found my arm pinned behind my back, his superhuman strength bleeding through with the force of his rage. He buried his face in the nape of my neck, “I’ve missed you Steven.” I could feel my pulse leap, and I took a shallow breath. He exhaled, breath cool against my feverish skin. 

“You’ve missed me? You don’t know me. And I clearly don’t know you!”

“Oh, you know me Steve,” he thrust me away, prowling to my right. His face shifted, melting into graceful planes and rouged lips; the mid-day sun cast a honeyed tinge on his/her soft brown curls. Peggy turned and smiled at me, “are you still waiting for the right partner Steve?” It was his voice, soft and seductive, that poured out her mouth. He/she smirked down at me. I scrambled backward, startled, and fell on my ass.

“You’re not Peggy. What the hell are you?” 

He/she advanced on me, his/her eyes smoldering, “that question is getting very tedious Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger because I'm evil. With an 85% chance of porn in the next chapter. (M/M Porn)
> 
> Is anyone interested in (Tony as Peggy/Steve Porn, because I'm willing to take that under advisment, this is still however, going to be entirely Tony/Steve. But let me know.)


	4. House of the Rising Son

He came to a halt, looming over me. The angry scowl faded and Peggy's visage melted away until Tony was himself again; his limpid eyes sharp and intelligent as he glared down at me. I exhaled in relief, and was immediately annoyed with my own reaction.

He extended his hand. I licked my lips nervously and hesitated. 

"I won't bite. Unless you want me to?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Never." But I took his hand. 

I could feel my pulse beat accelerate as he pulled me closer. "You don't know what you're getting into Steve."

He crowded me in until my back hit the cool concrete wall, his hands framing my face.  
He cupped my jaw with a cold hand, and ran his thumb across the light stubble shadowing my jaw. 

"Don't."

He laughed, thick and dark, "I know you want me Steve."

"No, I don't." The words sounded weak, even to me. He tore right past them -- dropped his hand to cup the growing bulge between my thighs. My stomach clenched and I sucked in a shallow breath. 

He rubbed the fabric until it was damp with pre-cum. I buried my face in his shoulder, nipping his flesh to stifle the animal noises I was making as I thrust into his palm.

"Tell me you don't want this Steve," he whispered.

"I don't want _you_ ," I gasped. 

He immediately dropped his hand, leaving a painful throbbing emptiness between my legs. I stared at him in defiantly. "You're done nothing but lie to me, Tony. I'm going to get Natasha back." I took a shuddering breath. "I don't want you."

He stared at me, eyes unreadable in the shadows. "I don't want you either Steve. I've never wanted you. You're a toy. A vessel. Give up on Natasha, freezer-pop. She's gone. If you need me for Avengers business, contact Pepper, she'll let me know."

His gaze traveled the length of my body, and he smiled contemptuously, eyes stopping at the throbbing bulge in my pants. "You should get someone to take care of that for you. It looks inconvenient." 

I waited until he left, giving me a knowing smirk, before thrusting my hand into my pants and jerking to a rapid climax, his image burning behind my eyelids as I bit the soft flesh of my palm to stifle my cries. 

 

"The motherfucker is a demon, Cap. A card carrying member of the fiery fuckin pit." 

It was seven in the morning. I'd finally managed to arrange a meeting with Nick Fury. When I'd asked about an exorcism, he'd been less than pleased. "Pardon me if I'm wrong Commander, but if Mr. Stark is a demon, and the military is aware of it, isn't he a liability?"

"Fuck no," Fury chewed the end of his cigar thoughtfully, "we've had a deal with the Starks dating back to the American Revolution. They were less prolific back then."

"The American government negotiates with demons?" My mind reeled. 

"Are you really surprised?" He eyed me with some skepticism. "We're America, we do whatever it takes to succeed. Freedom, apple pie, and all that hokey bullshit. Hitler had his witches coven, but he had nothing on Howard Stark. Bastard helped Albert Einstein perfect the atomic bomb. They've trusted a limited amount of people with knowledge about their true nature. Howard Stark made the mistake of telling Obadiah Stane too much. He started manufacturing anti-demon weaponry behind Howard's back. The Jericho missiles he sent to Afghanistan were meant to take out Tony's convoy. They were mixed with all kinds of nasty shit, silver, salt -- the fucker probably had them doused in holy water. They almost destroyed Stark's human vessel. Trust me, his suit is a necessary precaution. Stark's powers make him harder to kill, but it's not impossible. You know the name Obadiah means messenger of God? You think that shit is a coincidence? Stark's still fucked up over it. I wouldn't trifle with him, son."

"And Agent Carter?"

"During the 1940's, our primary liaison with House Stark was Howard. He did seem to have a special affinity with Agents Carter and Rickon. Erskine liked his enthusiasm, and his natural aptitude, so he took him on-board, but Howard made Erskine uneasy. He never trusted him with the Super Soldier Serum, despite his astonishing intelligence. Howard eventually grew to resent him for it. He became bitter and quick to anger. He was obsessed with finding you. Peggy's relationship with him grew strained, by the time Tony was born, she was talking about returning to England to retire. Tony was young at the time, and they kept him confined to the mansion. Even if he weren't a demon the man would have some issues. I wish I could help you son, but Stark is an ally, a fucking annoying ally, but someone we can't afford to write off."

Pepper Potts was waiting for me when I returned to the tower.

"He's taken off Captain. I suggest you go after him," she scowled up at me, arms crossed. 

"You don't know--"

"That he's a demon?" She glared. 

I scowled. "He doesn't want anything to do with me, Ma'am, he told me to leave it alone. He took the face of the woman I love. To mock me, I assume --

"He took nothing!" 

I stared. "I don't understand."

"No, you don't. Tony is -- was -- Peggy Carter. Tony and I, we're brother and sister -- no don't give me that look Captain -- we don't do anything -- like that. Sometimes, when we need a break, or when circumstances necessitate it, we pretend to have a relationship, but that's all it is, an elaborate farce."

I studied her. She seemed sincere, but I wasn't fooled, a demon would. "Why should I trust a damn thing either of you say?"

"Frankly Captain, you shouldn't." She crossed her arms and lowered herself gracefully onto the love seat. 

"When you say Tony is Peggy, what the hell does that mean?"

"It's a long story Captain, you should sit down."


End file.
